


Andúnië Means Sunset

by Saelmeril



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Akallabêth, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Family, Half-Human, Headcanon, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Motherhood, Multiple Pairings, Not Beta Read, Númenor, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saelmeril/pseuds/Saelmeril
Summary: The tale of two young Faithful Númenóreans, the daughter of the Lord of Andúnië and a jeweller's apprentice, who found their fates tied with those of their most vicious compatriots.(Looking for a beta-reader.)





	1. The Emerald Light

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [«Anduniё» — значит Закат](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/478168) by hinewai. 



> A translation of my own work. Some details of older chapters are modified but the general storyline remains intact.

_13_ _Then Mordecai told them to reply to Esther, ‘Do not think that because you are in the king’s_ _house you alone of all the Jews will escape._ _14_ _For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance_ _for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish._ _And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?’_

_Esther 4:13-14_

They say it is worth walking hundreds of leagues to behold a sunset of Andúnië. Just as any person who was born and lived his entire life here, I cannot verify it. Yet in minutes of reverie it seems to me that a mysterious song calls me to a cliff by the sea, and that only there, observing the declining Ánar, I feel alive.

     The crisp spring breeze salutes me and tousles my hair. I try to clip it but it hardly helps.

     As the coral-hued rays of the setting sun are reflected from the white stones of Andúnië, the town appears to be consumed by flames. The golden domes and bells shine so brightly that I can’t help squinting when my gaze rests on them. Even the sails in the port and the bay are on fire save the black ones—those on the ships belonging to my family.

     Black used to be the colour of the good night free from terror and evil before the King’s men started to associate it with death. Nowadays only the Faithful keep going under black sails.

     Above the haven and by the cliffs flocks of screaming seagulls soar like giant clouds, the shapes of which float one into another. It is quiet—only the seagulls scream and a cicada chirrs far away, and below the cliff I stand on, the ocean surf crashes against the rocks. A hollow thrust, a splash—and towers of foam, seething and glimmering, tumble down into the deep blue. This is Andúnië at its fairest. The Sunset Haven, built and governed by generations of my ancestors. I feel sorry for all the Faithful who were exiled from here and grateful that Iluvatar had spared our family and that I can still be one with my home.

     Settling down on the edge of the cliff, I inhale deeply the fresh sea air. Today I came here not to meditate or seek refuge from vanity but to bid farewell. Tomorrow we are leaving for Armenelos. Although the capital is bustling and majestic, nothing can replace for me the beauty and purity of Andúnië.

     I hold a letter in my hands—a letter with a royal stamp. It speaks of a man. Somebody Her Majesty found a suitable match for me. My Lord, I have never genuinely seen it coming—just like terminal illnesses or natural disasters, arranged marriages only befall other people. I wonder who he is. Realistically, there is nothing extraordinary to expect—probably some noble King’s man, hopefully young and kind-hearted—and I am more curious than concerned. After all, it is just a suggestion. I shall have the final say unless whoever stands behind it decides to violate the law.

     The letter arrived two weeks earlier, but I promised myself not to open it till the very last evening in Andúnië—partly to savour my suspense, but mostly to postpone the inevitable. I did not want to spoil my last carefree days.

     'You are aware that in seventeen days’ time Tar-Míriel celebrates her jubilee,’ spoke mother, the Lady of Andúnië, that day, as my parents and I sat in armchairs on the terrace. ‘By the grace of Iluvatar our family is invited again, and this year the Queen herself admitted that you are mature enough to attend.'

     Her delicate pale hands rested on her thighs, and not a single hair broke away from her neat headdress.

     The sun was high above the horizon, but the wind of _Viressё_  still brought chillness from the sea.

     I smiled, casting my look down.

     'It’s a great honour for me, _ammё_.'

     The Lord and Lady of Andúniё remained close to the royal family in spite of being Faithful. I loved and admired Tar-Míriel. The legitimate Queen of Númenor was my idea of a flawless woman, and her opinion used to be sacred to me when I was a child. Sadly, most virtuous hearts are often taken by the most unworthy. Ar-Zimraphêl, how she is ought to be addressed nowadays by the decree of her husband the usurper, could have become the fourth ruling queen of Elénna and continue her father’s deeds to restore the position of the Faithful and end persecution. Instead she gave her heart and sceptre to a tyrant, her own cousin who upset her engagement with a worthier man only to seize power.

     Father, nevertheless, would note regretfully that Ar-Pharazôn drained his cup of bitterness. The Lords of Andúniё have been advising the kings since time immemorial, so father would have inherited his position anyway. However, the friendship of Amandil and Cálion had begun long before the latter initiated a coup.

     ‘Less than in a month you will turn twenty-five,’ father said. Do you understand the implications of this for you?'

     ‘I will come of age and gain the privileges and responsibilities of an adult.’

     He nodded. 'Responsibilities above all. Many girls would be happy to be in your place, yet your plight is not an easy one. First, you are a Faithful. Although Tar-Cálion is rather tolerant comparing to his predecessors, we’re standing on molten ice and can afford no mistakes. Second, you are a woman, and your destiny will depend on the man with whom you share it.’

     The grape leaves above me rattled in the wind and I wrapped myself in a shawl.

     In the days of the Dawn of Númenor getting married just after reaching adulthood had been rare and frowned upon. Now that our lifespans have shortened it became fairly common, less so among the descendants of Elros and the Faithful. The Lords of Andúnië were both.

     'Only the royal family stands higher than us,’ father continued. ‘However, Cálion and Míriel are childless and have neither nieces nor other unmarried female kin. This leaves you the most coveted bride of the Isle. It is advantageous to us and perilous for you. Those in pursuit of money and power will go to great ends to win your hand in marriage. For your greater good, I urge you to take even the sweetest promises cold-bloodedly. Think a hundred times before committing to anyone.'

     I sighed. 'In this case sealing the heart into reason would be the wisest option. It is easy to say, but how to tell the flatterers and hypocrites from the candid? The mistake can surface in a year or two… it may take a lifetime! Besides, the majority of noble bachelors are _arandili_ , and I will not renounce my allegiance for a man.'

     Father scrutinized me.

     'He who loves you genuinely will never force you to tear your heart out of your chest, will he?' I nodded feebly. 'Just as well he will accept your faith. Surely we would prefer you to marry an Elf-Friend, but unfortunately, apart from us and a couple of our vassals, all of them have been stripped of their titles or exiled.’

     'But what about the ancient houses of Pelargir? Or those who escaped there?’

     'As many as you wish,' said mother. She was Pelargirian herself. 'But, as the female party, you will be the one to leave the Isle. I bet you wouldn’t want that no matter how atrocious it gets here.’

     I curled my lip at this thought. The notorious attachment of Númenórean women to the Isle has been known since the time of Aldarion and Erendis at least; although I was fond of the sea, unlike Queen Elestirnë, I would rather have admired it from my native shores.

     Father, who had been patiently waiting for our dialogue to end, spoke up:

     'I emphasise that my heart would rejoice if I got a chance to see you by the side of another _elendil_ , but you should be prepared for anything. There are decent men among the _arandili_ , as well as scoundrels that call themselves Faithful.'

     ‘By the way, how is your friend Telcontar doing?’ mother asked with a smirk.

     I protested, ' _Mamil_ , we are but friends. He is… He is amusing, but he seems to be changing girls like gloves. Or he says so… He’s even worse than some of the King’s men—’

     Mother chuckled.

     ‘His boldness is admirable if he behaves so despite being a Faithful.’

     'You are exaggerating,' said father. 'Telcontar is not even thirty; what do you expect from him? During the last war against Sauron he had served under my command. Being experienced in such matters, I can tell that this youth may go far.'

     'His name is bizarre,' I insisted. 'There should be a good reason for one to be called _a Wanderer.’_

     ‘We are not demanding you to marry him,’ mother sighed. ‘After all, it’s him who should make a proposal. However, Telcontar is a Faithful, originates from an ancient family… And I assure you that paying a courtesy visit to Telperiën is not the reason he jumps at every opportunity to come here.’

     Telperiën was Telcontar’s cousin and my sister-in-law.

     'But we haven’t seen each other for years.’

     ‘Then prepare to be reunited in a few weeks. Incidentally, Her Majesty also wrote that she had happened to meet an extraordinary young man who, as she said, will undoubtedly interest you.'

     Given permission to leave, I kissed both of my parents. Although I loved them without measure and knew that they loved me too, this was a rare gesture nowadays; Númenórean aristocrats are notoriously spare of emotions.

     My first thought was that Tar-Míriel was too kind to ever match me with a dishonest man, but then I realised that assuming this would be naïve: if it could benefit of the Crown, the Royals could have promised me to the Enemy himself.

     'Well, well… Why are we overcast as Eöl on a sunny day?'

     On the way up the staircase I ran into Elendil. Knocked out of my daydreams, I lifted my eyes at his entire height, which was considerable enough even without taking the steps into account, and muttered something in response.

     Brother simmered. ‘Believe me, marriage is not the end of the world. See, I got married, fathered two children, and I’m still alive. By the way, Her Majesty sent you a personal letter. Don’t forget to fetch it. Cheer up, Telumё.'

     Saying this, he patted me on the shoulder.

     Unlike me, Elendil had smooth jet-black hair and a pale complexion; something every girl would envy. Yet we both shared our eyes of pure grey, typical amongst Dúnedain with Elven ancestry. I told him about the suggestion of the Queen and asked whether he had any ideas concerning the identity of my potential fiancé.

     ‘I know what you know,’ he shook his head.

     ‘She wouldn’t have recommended me a bad person, would she?’

     ‘Tar-Míriel is very fond of you, but she might not be the one to decide. Anyway, it is just a recommendation. Nobody can force you into marriage; the law and _atar_ won’t allow it.’

     Tar-Ancalimё, the fairest woman ever born in Númenor, met her love disguised as a shepherd girl. Tar-Telperiёn, the second ruling queen in our history, abode by celibacy. Why can I not follow the paths of our greatest rulers? I am not a royal princess—only one of Andúnië—but that means less is expected of me. Many would want to marry me to take advantage of my title, but I have done nothing for the wealth and glory of my house. Then why should they outshine everything I really am in the eyes of people?

     I wonder how would young men see me if I concealed my origin.

     The book ended. I dipped the quill into the ink… Lost in daydreams, I put a blot on an unfinished letter to Ninquёlotё, my only female friend who shared my family’s allegiance. Well, Ninquё, discussing the last Erukyermё festival will have to wait.

     'With the thunderous song of his flute the mighty Echtelion of the House of the Fountain makes a decisive blow to the Balrog of Morgoth—'

     The five-year-old ‘Balrog’ dodged the strike of the flute, out of which the fifteen-year-old ‘Echtelion’, as one would expect, did not manage to produce a single sound. In spite of the advantage of facing the fountain, ‘Gothmog’ struggled to parry his rival’s lunges.

     'It wasn’t this way in the story!' he whined and resumed the offensive. 'Begone, thou filthy elf!'

     Suddenly Isildur stopped and seized Anárion by his hands.

     'We were spotted by the Lidless Eye of Sauron. The Enemy is enraged and will be here in a matter of instants.’

     The ‘Balrog’ turned around, saw me, and then jumped onto the edge of the fountain. He clung to Isildur’s legs, causing him to lose balance, and, almost like in the original legend, both contenders flopped into the water.

     'Have you lost your mind?'

     The junior princes of Andúniё sat in the fountain, drenched, and gaped at me with round eyes (bright-grey of colour, of course). Isildur tried to hide behind his back the two halves of what used to be my flute of ebony.

     'How? How did you manage to break it?' I lifted my hands to my face. Isilyo, you’re nearly sixteen!'

     I was used to the pranks and games of my nephews and sometimes partook in them. For instance, when Isilyo stranded himself on a tree playing Maedhros, I had to step into the historic shoes of Thorondor and Fingon, since the first candidates (a talking parrot and Anárion) had failed. Not to mention how many times I shielded them in front Elendil and Telperiën.

     'Go change and dry before your or my parents see you,' I commanded after the boys apologized, and pointed at the house. ‘Now.’

     Thanks Iluvatar, Fёanáro was not a popular figure in our house; otherwise, the port of Andúniё would long have been ash.

     It was an ordinary afternoon in the family of the Lord of Andúniё. Before dusk some of us were finishing their daily duties, others played, chatted, rested. How many more such days would we enjoy? I knew that one would have to be the last but always hoped that it would be neither this nor the next day. So far this hope had never failed me.

I finished reading the Queen’s letter.

_At first sight, he doesn’t appear warm-hearted but trust me, there is no man like him among the Dúnedain._

     I would have believed anyone save you, _Tarinya._ Perhaps there is indeed no other such odious and abominable man in the entire world, but in this case he would not be worth a rustle of your quill. No name, no family, no place of origin mentioned. Looks more like a phantom of a man. And I can tell it is not Telcontar.

     The sheet of paper strives to win free of my hands. I hide it in my sleeve and gaze anew at the horizon. The tremendous disk of scarlet quivers in the wind, and on the ragged sea ripples myriads of specks of red-hot gold glimmer in their dance.

I knew I would miss these tranquil sunlit evenings more than anything else. Unwittingly I crumpled and tore the letter in my hands.

     I almost got up to leave, but the moment the last crimson ray glistened above the sea surface a green flame flickered at the horizon for a barely perceivable instant, like a wink of some colossal eye.

     By-passers could have decided that I turned into a stone pillar. A shiver ran up my arms. _Laicarma_ —the green ray! How could it be possible that an idle landgirl of me had witnessed what many seasoned sailors do not manage to see in a lifetime?

     As soon as my bewilderment dissipated I bolted back to the house.

     Father and Elendil were sitting and talking on the terrace where I had been lectured earlier. Running up the porch, I shouted, struggling to catch my breath:

     ' _Tatanya! Toronya!_ Have you seen it?'

     Father had recently returned from a sail and looked even more tan than usually. Elendil, however, somehow retained his aristocratic paleness even after months at sea. He was teased a half-Noldo for a reason (and, despite the intended negative connotation, secretly took pride in this nickname). I was jealous of him, for I had inherited our father’s type.

     The two turned to me.

     'What happened, Telumendis?' father asked.

     My answer apparently surprised them. Elendil smiled:

     ‘Few mariners happen to witness it. Congratulations, Telumё—you are a lucky girl!'

     'Who knows, who knows,’ I shrugged and flopped onto the unoccupied armchair. 'Not everyone regards the green ray a good omen, do they?' I questioned father.

     The sky darkened rapidly. Everything—the singing birds, the seagulls, even the cicadas—lapsed into silence so abruptly that I felt astonished.

     ‘Indeed,' father nodded. 'Every nation explains the wonders of nature in its own fashion. The Haradrim believe that with the green ray departing souls leave Arda, the tribes of the northern coast of Endórё—that its observers are granted with magical powers. The Quendi celebrate “the emerald gleams of dawn” as benedictions of Maia Ariёn. Ultimately, it may be just a result of an intricate interplay of light rays near the horizon.'

     A housemaid lit a candle in a lantern beside us.

     Elendil smirked.

     'Why complicate matters? Maybe it only means that someone’s bound to encounter a handsome green-eyed youth,’ he winked.

     ‘It’s the first time I hear of such an interpretation,' father smiled, ‘but it may well be possible. There are many readings, yet all come down to one. The witness of a green ray, be it a savage from Far Harad or a pure-blooded Noldo, unwittingly prepares himself for change.’


	2. The City of Kings

Magnificent facades of white limestone, lush parks on mountainsides, cascades of fountains and perfect arrays of columns; ornate gilded sculptures, the wary eyes of commoners and the chill bronze shimmer on the gowns of the noblemen; guards, beggars and the Tower of Elros seen from every corner, overloomed by the shadow of Meneltarma, the Heavenly Pillar. This is Armenelos, the City of Kings.

     I rode behind my parents abreast with Elendil and looked forward, avoiding eye contact with the townsfolk. The reputation of our house was ambivalent, and so were the expressions in the eyes of onlookers staring at father. These days most of them were still full of reverie. However, the air was pregnant with change. Never before have I seen the people of Armenelos so humbled, cramping by the edges of the streets and dodging guards in military uniform, unexpectedly numerous and conceited for this district.

     As we approached the inner walls, a patrol apprehended us. Its captain asked my father's name, occupation and the reason for entering Armenelos.

     ‘Aphanuzîr an-Andúnië, Lord of Andustar, advisor to His Majesty. For the first time in my life I am being interrogated this way.’

     Not a muscle moved on the guard`s face.

     ‘This is an order of His Highness—’

     ‘Highness?’ Elendil and I exchanged a perplexed look.

     ‘—He needs to make sure that no _nimruzîrim_  sneak into the city.’

     My brother, whose name translated to Adûnaic as Nimruzîr, scoffed and wanted to blurt out a joke, but Father ordered him to stay silent.

     ‘Highness?’ he repeated mistrustfully while we watched him, holding our breath. ‘If only Her Majesty hasn't given birth to an heir or the King hasn’t found another advisor in my absence, there is only one Highness on the Isle of Elenna.’

     The captain humbled.

     ‘My apologies, milord. I meant to say “His Majesty” but looked at you and—’

     ‘Are you letting us through?’

     ‘At once, milord.’

     The guard commanded his fellows to open the gate. When we were about to advance, I heard him whisper: ‘He’s a decent man. Bless him.’

     Our parents departed to the palace soon after arriving, but the rest of us chose to stay home. Isildur and Anárion, however, soon felt bored and started begging for a walk in town. Elendil was prepared neither to accompany them nor to let them go alone in our first day in the most dangerous city of Númenor. I agreed to chaperone my nephews. As I ascended the staircase I ran into a maid and suddenly an idea dawned on me. I suggested that we dress up like plain townsfolk to test how would commoners perceive us if they saw us without the usual attributes of our status.

     ‘Telumё, let’s go to Tar-Herunumen Square!’ Isildur proposed.

     I scrutinised him. Immediately he realized his mistake:

‘I beg your pardon, Lady Minalhil,’ he aped. ‘Shall we head towards Ar-Adunakhôr Square?’

     ‘Fine,’ I nodded, ‘but first please remind me of your human name, lord—’

     ‘Nilûbên,’ he bowed playfully.

     ‘And I am Ûrîphêl’ Anárion stepped forward with pride.

     Isildur smirked and nudged him, ‘It’s a girl name, dummy. You’re Ûrîthôr.’

     ‘My Adûnaic name sounds silly,’ he whined. ‘Can I be Tamruzîr instead?’

     I agreed.

     We strolled on the sunlit streets, amused ourselves, joked and chuckled, marvelled at the fact that we are able to converse without mincing and posing. We mimicked accents from all over the Isle and choked with laughter again and again. Finally, worn out by the midday swelter, weary but elated, our legs leaden, we reached Great Fountain on the Palace Square. The boys chatted about sundry matters. I could barely hear them behind the voices of other people and the roar of the water. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, I gazed up to the sky and relished the refreshing water splashes, the warmth of the sun, the sourness of the apple bought in a market earlier and my rapturous youth.

     Isildur turned to the palace and smiled mysteriously:

     ‘Just think of it: there, behind the gates, few hundreds of _rangar_ away from us—sits Sauron.’

     ‘Where?’ Anárion sprang on his legs.

     ‘In prison, dummy,’ Isildur giggled and pulled him back by his shirt.

     For a while we stayed silent but presently engaged in a trivial conversation again. And just after the heavy residue left after mentioning the Enemy had dissipated Isildur twitched.

     Pointing his finger behind me, he yelled, his eyes rounded:

     ‘Look out! Sauron!’

     ‘Where?’

     I dropped my apple, turned around and accidentally bumped into a tall young man who sat beside me. I gasped, recoiled and nearly fell on the giggling nephew. That man gazed at me from his height as if he was Thingol, and I—an armed son of Fёanor who accidentally fell in front of him from a tree whilst he was making his morning promenade.

     ‘Do you need help, milady?’ he questioned.

     ‘No, I’m fine… Excuse me,’ I smiled awkwardly and called Anárion, who once more attempted to escape into the crowd, 'Tamruzîr!’

     ‘I beg your pardon?’ replied the same young man.

     ‘I’m talking to my nephew,’ I explained and prepared to leave, but the stranger went on:

     ‘What a coincidence! My name is also Tamruzîr.’ Splashes from the fountain glistened on his black hair. ‘Now that we started talking, would you mind introducing yourself too?’

     ‘Minalhil. Nice to meet you.’

     ‘Are you not local?’

     He had discerned my accent.

     ‘I’m from the Andustar,’ I tried to keep my origin vague, ‘but my family visits Ar-Minaleth fairly often, so I’m familiar with the city.’

     ‘Then please let me keep you company. I can show you around.’

     A common strategy that works infallibly on provincial gentry girls. I was not that gullible. However, I took a moment to consider Tamruzîr’s offer. His gown, reserved in colours but neat and expensive, and refined manners exposed a man of high birth. Being intrigued and hoping that he was noble-hearted enough not to take advantage of me, I agreed.

     ‘So tell me, what brought you to Ar-Minaleth?’ Tamruzîr began as we started our walk.

     I replied frankly, ‘Her Majesty`s Jubilee.’

     His grey eyes lit with excitement:

     ‘That means tomorrow I’ll see you in the palace?’

     ‘What are you talking about!’ I chuckled. ‘We, commoners, will throw our own party—’ Then a frightening realisation dawned on me. ‘Wait—will you actually be there tomorrow?’

     ‘Of course.’

     Goodness, I thought. Please make him forget my face and voice as soon as we part.

     ‘What a shame that I can`t be there.’

     ‘Indeed. This is the first event where the people will have a chance to see the new counsellor of Ar-Pharazôn.’

     These words struck me like lightning.

     ‘N-new … counsellor?’ I stuttered. ‘But Lord Ama… Aphanuzîr is alive and in perfect health!’

     ‘The King should have dismissed him long ago,’ Tamruzîr snapped. ‘Perhaps the news hasn’t reached the West yet, but a week ago an order that appointed Zigûr as the first counsellor was released.’

     I had no clue who this 'Sorcerer' was and to what kind of sorcery had he resorted to displace the King’s dearest friend from his rightful position, but I shivered in the middle of the scorching afternoon. Petrified, I nearly got overrun by a rider. Tamruzîr pulled me away just in time. Whilst he held me by my shoulders, a question slipped out of my mouth:

        ‘Can it be related to Sauron?’

     ‘I hope not,’ he shrugged. ‘But anyone’s better than an Elf-friend.’

     We came to a bridge of white stone arched over a murmuring stream—one of those springing from the heart of Meneltarma. The capital abounded of them. Exhausted, I leaned on the parapet. My companion stood beside me, his hand rested near mine. I glanced at it and suddenly noticed a golden ring shimmering on his wedding finger.

     My eyes widened.

     ‘Your wife—or betrothed… is she also in Ar-Minaleth?’ I questioned tentatively.

     ‘What wife?’ he frowned.

     ‘Are you not married? You’re wearing a—’

     Tamruzîr examined his fingers and grinned.      

     ‘Ah, the ring. It’s a family relic.’

     Even though there was nothing remarkable about his ring—it was just one smooth piece of gold—for some reason its look captivated me. It must have been ancient.

     Tamruzîr went on:

     ‘Listen, Minalhil—you dress like a commoner but you're couth like a Lady of Andúnië. Who taught you manners?’

     ‘Have you ever met one?’ I asked lifelessly.

     ‘Who?’

     ‘A Lady of Andúnië.’

     ‘Not in person, but Her Majesty told me about one. Aphanuzîr's daughter. From her words, she’s young, gorgeous and perfectly educated—that is, fulfilling her status and origin. The only inconvenience is that I`ve never laid an eye on her and yet they’re speaking of our betrothal.’

     ‘Is it a joke?’ I exclaimed in genuine horror.

     Tamruzîr answered indifferently:

     ‘Unfortunately not. Tomorrow at the ball Ar-Zimraphel will introduce us to each other.’

     I cast my gaze down again. Fresh air ascended from the waters carrying the spirit of the Holy Mountain. Born in her heart, the brook strived for the distant ocean keeping innumerable mysteries in its silent magnificence. But what if halfway to its goal it flowed into a vapid lake or returned to its underground confinement? My look froze on the ever-changing current, and I stopped hearing anything but its splatter. I felt as if it had paved a way through my heart. Something swift and cold stung it and vanished.

     Half an hour ago I had been exuberant and ready to move mountains, and now I struggled not to collapse. The patrol, the new counsellor and then this weird groom-to-be. I wish it were nothing but a series of misunderstandings.

     'I’m sorry for you … and the princess. I doubt that she’ll be happy to learn that she’s been promised to a stranger.'     

     If Tamruzîr was actually the one mentioned by Tar-Míriel, her choice was rather odd. He appeared to be an ordinary young nobleman, reasonably rich, adventurous and of dubious integrity, for otherwise he would not have sought consolation by flirting with commoners. Alternatively, he might have recognised me. In this case he must have had a peculiar sense of humour.

     At any rate, who could possibly benefit from our union? How comes I have never heard of his family?

     The mastery of Númenórean jewellers was renowned in the entire mortal world. Every time I walked into a workshop in Armenelos, I was bewitched by the gloss of gemstones and metals deftly woven together in necklaces, bracelets, pendants, earrings and diadems sumptuous and refined. This time was no exception. I marvelled as I moved past the scintillating artworks. Every one of them was a masterpiece, but in one particular corner the jewels were perfect in every way. I have never seen so many pieces matching my taste so precisely gathered in the same place.

     ‘How beautiful—’ I touched an emerald bracelet and glanced at the jewels nearby which were just as admirable.

     ‘I know a lot about jewellery and I can tell that all of these were forged by one hand,’ Tamruzîr remarked.

I had lured him into the workshop intentionally to get rid of him before discovering his expertise in the field. His name meant 'Friend of Tamar', or 'Aulë'. It fitted him well.

     ‘Whose hand?’ I mused. ‘I wish I could compliment this master.’

     ‘Behold, Minalhil.’

     My companion softly turned me around. An elegant diadem of mithril, diamonds and aquamarines resting on a sapphire-blue pillow appeared in an alcove before my eyes. Tamruzîr shut the window blinds. In the darkness with only one ray of light falling into the room the alcove transformed: cyan light reflected on the surfaces around the diadem, the walls and the fabric, and even my hands as I lifted and studied them.

     While I stood there bewildered, Tamruzîr took the diadem off the pillow and slowly placed it on my head. He put a mirror in my hands.

     ‘You look like royalty,’ he whispered me into the ear.

     I was conjuring up words for an answer when the blinds opened with an abrupt noise. Daylight extinguished the shining, and my awe dissipated.

     ‘I apologize, but the Heir of Andúniё has secured this diadem for his sister.’

     I turned my head and saw a young man, probably an apprentice, leaning against the window, his arms crossed.

     ‘Also, if you would be so kind as to refrain from grabbing my most valuable article without permission,’ he added, addressing primarily Tamruzîr. ‘It’s fortunate for you that the chief master of this workshop is away.’

     Childhood memories circled in my mind as I examined the apprentice. I saw a golden-haired boy running along a pebbly beach with a bucket of water, splashes falling behind him, meeting another boy, a black-haired one, who held two fishing rods and handed one to him. Then they beckoned me and I ran to join them. The black-haired boy was Elendil and the other one was Maltir, his childhood friend and sworn brother, who now stood in front of me.

     ‘The Heir’s sister will wait. I am purchasing it,’ said Tamruzîr.

     ‘Hold on,’ I touched his hand and subtly asked Maltir to clarify whether Elendil had actually intended to buy it.

     ‘Lord Nimruzîr came here half an hour ago with his children to examine it,’ he replied, unfolding his arms. No doubt he recognised me too.

     As Maltir mentioned the boys, I looked around and gasped. Only then I noticed that Isildur and Anárion were missing. In the most dangerous city of the West I forgot about the children whom I was supposed to look after because a stranger seized my attention. Elendil, thank goodness the boys had found him, will not be amused.

     ‘Please accept our apologies,’ I smiled and returned the diadem to the pillow. ‘This belongs to the Princess.’

     ‘I want it to be yours,’ Tamruzîr insisted, his voice as firm as ever.

     ‘Please, I am just a commoner—’

     Tamruzîr’s resolution troubled me. So far he had come across as careless if not frivolous, and now he was trying to command me despite that we had met a mere few hours ago. His look left no room for doubting the seriousness of his intentions. I had already realised that I underestimated him but still could not figure out what he actually was.

     ‘But it fits you as if it was meant for _you_ ,’ he protested.

     I looked into his eyes and shuddered. It was meant for me. Was it a coincidental turn of phrase, or did he know? Whatever the truth, clearly my veneer of a commoner was crumbling. I had to flee before the situation deteriorated any further.

     Maltir noticed my perplexity.

     ‘I will not sell it to you without the permission of Lord Nimruzîr himself,' he stepped between Tamruzîr and me. ‘End of story.’  

     ‘Who are you to decide?’

     ‘The creator of this diadem and the most important person in this workshop in the master’s absence, in case you wanted to know. Now tell me who are _you_ to dispatch orders in this place.’

     Maltir slanted at me. In his eyes I read, ‘What are you waiting for? Go while I am distracting him.’

     I thanked my stepbrother with a nod and strode away. I realised that I knew surprisingly little about him. In fact, nothing but that he had grown up in Andúniё by the side of our family and had received a well-rounded education, hence his urbane manners. Just before my birth Maltir, denying any support from our parents, left Andúniё to become a jeweller. 

     Despite the miraculous mutual understanding between us, our manoeuvre was absurd: Tamruzîr noticed that I left and caught me just outside the workshop door.

     ‘What happened, Minalhil? We did not even bid farewell to each other.'

     ‘Sorry. It’s late and I realised that I should’ve long been home, and you were too busy arguing,’ I did not stop walking as I muttered the excuse.

     Tamruzîr halted. ‘Fine then. See you later.’

     I bade him farewell with a shadow of a smile and plunged into the crowd.

     In Armenelos twilight always falls earlier than elsewhere, for the sun here descends behind the Holy Mountain long before actually crossing the horizon. The shadows were already long when we parted. I was not looking forward to Elendil’s reaction but nonetheless rushed home, for the thought of staying alone on the streets of Armenelos after sunset was even more frightening. Indeed, nothing unusual had happened: I merely engaged in a walk with a strange young man, the outcome of which I should have foreseen. Yet an inexplicable terror welled up in me as if my mind had not yet grasped the disaster of which my heart had already been aware.

     My parents returned late from the palace, and I only saw them in the morning. From their downcast, disquieted appearance and their unwillingness to talk I could instantly tell that something was wrong. I questioned them only to find out that the most ominous rumours were true.

     Father was no longer the King’s first counsellor.


	3. The Dance

I could not sleep so I came up to the roof.

The crescent of the young moon thin as a silver Elven sail floated in the boundless ocean of the night. I bent my fingers, recalling the colours of our crest. Black for the good night free from fear; silver for star-rays bright and clear; white for Nimloth, the sacred Tree, its many branches and roots firm and deep.

Legend has it, the royal dynasty of Númenor will only last while the Tree is alive.

I sat by the edge of the roof wrapped in a cloak. Several hours were left till dawn. The city was silent. Only the fountain murmured beneath me, a cricket chirred, frogs croaked in the pond and the hoofs of a stranger`s horse clattered somewhere in the distance. The air was damp and imbued with scents of many flowers. 

A branch cracked, and a disturbed moth flew past me. I recognised Isilyo’s steps.

‘Telumё?’ he asked with surprise in his voice. ‘Why aren’t you sleeping?’ 

‘I’m anxious about the ball,’ I explained quietly; my parents’ bedroom was just below us, and I didn’t want to awaken them. ‘ _Ammё_ said that Their Majesties intended to introduce me to the new advisor of the King.’ 

Isildur looked bewildered. 

‘But who is he?’ 

‘Some noble King’s man, I believe.’ 

‘What’s his name? His family? Why’ve we never heard of him before?’ 

‘This is what I’m concerned about. Father would’ve noticed someone powerful enough to overtake his position long ago, not to mention that he knows all the family trees of Elenna’s nobility by heart. It just doesn`t add up. But anyway, why are you here?’

Isildur squatted beside me. 

‘I was pondering on the implications of this for me. Suddenly I realised that in the future this mess will fall on my shoulders, and if I don’t deal with it, nobody will. But I have no idea how to do it.’

‘You’ll figure it out,’ I smiled. ‘Hopefully the turmoil will settle by then, and you will advise to the King as our ancestors have done for millennia.’ 

‘What king? Tar-Míriel and Tar-Cálion are childless. What happens if the dynasty—’ 

He did not dare to finish the sentence. The line of Elros had reigned uninterrupted for more than three thousand years, and in the eyes of the Dúnedain its end would signify the end of Elenna. However, this was what we were heading for. A succession crisis was imminent. Since the Royals had no closer relatives, the sceptre in this case would pass to the second noble family of the Isle—that is, to the Lords of Andúnië. But that was unthinkable. Despite the slander of his adversaries, my father dreaded the possibility of this as much as any other Númenórean, if not more. So did Elendil.

‘Look! Eärendil’s appeared.’ 

At last the wind carried away the clouds and exposed Eärendil—the morning and evening star, the brightest luminary after the Sun and the Moon—to our view. _Gil estel_ we called it, the Light of Hope. Texts from days of the Dawn claimed that once its splendour had been so great that it had outshone every other star in the sky and had not faded even in sunlight.

‘Our forefather would weep if he saw what we’ve become,’ Isildur said.

‘If he is there indeed, he can see everything. Yet the Star still shines— _gil estel_ never fades.’

Tender music flowed from the harp strings, mingling with the songs of the flutes and the silvery vocals in a subtle harmony. I observed the hall whilst descending from the grand staircase behind my parents. Women in lavish attires, every one of them a masterpiece, seemed to be incarnations of this music. The fairest of them all was clad in a dark-blue gown embroidered with mithril and adorned with diamonds. Tar-Míriel embodied the ancient Elven ideals; hair black as a moonless night, porcelain skin and eyes of a clear grey shade reminiscent of the stars. Despite her age, she looked as if time had no hold of her.

The Queen rose from her chair and greeted us with a smile. 

‘Lord Amandil, Lady Almarian, I am pleased to see you.’ 

Elendil and Telperiёn greeted the Queen after our parents. Then came my turn. I made a curtsey and kissed Tar-Míriel’s ring.

The Kings of Númenor wore no crowns. On Ar-Pharazôn’s brow shone a gem of great brightness supported by a blue ribbon according to the ancient tradition. It would have fitted his wife so much better.

That moment Elendil was talking to the King. When he mentioned longevity among his wishes, Ar-Pharazôn smiled contentedly. 

‘The day of our victory over the ultimate enemy is nigh. The generation of our fathers was the last doomed to die,’ he suddenly turned towards me, ‘and Minalhil will be one of the first Adûnaîm to be granted the gift of gifts.’ Noticing my confusion, he asked, ‘Did your parents not tell you?’ 

‘About what, Your Grace?’ 

He did not answer, distracted by other guests.

‘Telumё!’ a lean girl with smooth ashen-white hair and golden bracelets on each wrist called me. She used my Quenya name but pronounced it with in an Adûnaic accent, as many of my acquaintances did.

‘Belinzil, _meldonya_!’ I clasped my friend’s hands and we kissed each other in the cheeks.

She was a secret Faithful from a family of our vassals—one of the few having escaped exile. Her real name was Ninquёlotё, or Nimloth. I was not only glad to meet an old friend in a place full of strangers but also rejoiced that the account of her family remained high enough to let them be admitted to the ball.

‘I heard about the new advisor. I’m sorry’, Nimloth whispered.

A bitter smile was the most I could give her as an answer. So far I learnt nothing more about the new counsellor. People greeted father with usual reverie, and the royals showed no sign of disregard towards him (though this was not a reason for relief; Númenórean courtiers are notoriously skilful in concealing their true emotions)—as if the impostor did not exist. 

Nimloth sighed, ‘Ar-Zimraphel is so beautiful. I will never believe that Ar-Pharazôn is the only lover she’s ever had.’

‘She doesn’t make an impression of someone capable of adultery.’

‘Does she love her husband?’

‘She definitely loved him back then when they got married—otherwise she would never have overcome so many obstacles to accept his proposal. Some Faithfuls say that he forced her but I don’t believe it. Pharazôn was powerful, yes, but Míriel was the rightful heiress and had all the support of the Lords of Andúnië, which was quite something,’ I smiled in a jesting way.

‘Wasn’t it your uncle who created the rumours about their forced marriage?’

I laughed.

‘Uncle Elentir? No, he’s too wise to not understand, and he would never resort to something that base.’ I lowered my voice, ‘But frankly speaking, I’m convinced that his feelings for Tar-Míriel haven’t faded. Since she broke their betrothal he’s never loved another woman—not that I know at least.’ I sighed. ‘It’s a shame that it has to be this way: Elentir and Míriel would have made Númenor a much better place.’

‘And possibly we wouldn’t have been at the verge of a succession crisis.’

‘Ninquё, how dare you!’ I whispered with sham indignation. ‘We will discover the secret of immortality long before there is need for an heir.’

The evening went on. There were chatter and treats, pyramids of wine glasses and towers of desserts (nowhere in the world one could find confection as luscious as in the Palace of Elros), speeches concise and lengthy, witty and tedious, and invariably beginning in the middles of the most interesting conversations. Destinies ruled away, treaties concluded. Laughter, clinking of glasses, rustles of gowns and music of indescribable beauty, dances, gossips, hypocrisy, bragging—and no sign of Tamruzîr. I searched for him stealthily, deliberately asked subtle questions to people that, I presumed, could have known him—all in vain.

I was about to forget myself in a cheerful conversation with Nimloth and another acquaintance of ours when I saw him. Not Tamruzîr, but an even more dreadful encounter.

Fear surged in my stomach, and I grasped Nimloth’s hand. 

‘Ninquё, look!’ 

He walked down the stairs alone, poised and full of dignity. Hundreds of voices silenced as heads turned towards him. Taller than any man in the hall, manly, granted by nature with a delicate stance, noble features and shoulderblade-long smooth hair of a honey shade pinned with an elaborate hairpin.

‘He must be an elf,’ Ninquёlotё whispered with admiration.

‘An elf? In Ar-Pharazôn’s court? Ninquë, he is merely a rich son of some rich father. There are plenty of youths like him.’ 

I said it though I did not believe my words. There was indeed something captivating, unheard-off in the image of this man, and, although no signs of ageing blighted his look, he was certainly not a youth. He conversed with Ar-Pharazôn and Tar-Míriel as an equal and all but ignored other courtiers. How wealthy should have he been to bear himself this way? I had an impulse to ask whether he might be the new counsellor but remained silent, knowing the answer precisely.

Blood ran ice-cold in my veins. I stepped back and pleaded Nimloth to move farther away from the centre of the hall, but she remained oblivious to my words; the stranger enthralled her. I was left alone with my despair.

The rest I remember as in a hazy dream.

I met Tar-Míriel’s eyes. She beckoned me with an idle gesture of her hand. Having no right to disobey, I slowly walked towards my fate, my heart pounding and knees turning soft as people gave way and followed me with their stares.

When I came, Ar-Pharazôn embraced the man by his shoulder

‘My noble friend, meet Minalhil, Aphanuzîr’s daughter. Dear Minalhil,’ he turned to me, ‘I am delighted to introduce you to Mêrayôn, my new advisor. You may have heard him being referred to as Zigûr.’

I made a curtsey.

‘I am enchanted to meet you, Lord Mêrayôn.’

He took my hand and kissed it. His lips were cold and dry.

‘I’ve heard many wonderful words about you and I’m am delighted to finally see you in person,’ he said with a reserved smile. ‘May I have the honour of sharing your first dance tonight?’ he smiled, offering me his hand.

‘Of course,’ I took it and we stepped into the crowd.

I still could not grasp the fact of meeting him and danced as if someone else was in charge of my moves. Mêrayôn’s movements were agile and elegant yet I could feel the hidden force in his arms as he held me by the waist. He deserved his name. An ideal incarnate, he was difficult not to admire. But there was something sinister about his perfection. Not a single wrinkle blemished his skin, but, just as my companion from the day before, he looked young but not youthful. Step. Turn. Trying to figure out his age, I concluded that he was at least three times as old as me; for a miracle may conceal the worst facial flaws but can never render a fledgling a wise and experienced statesman.

And his eyes—not brown but amber, feline rather than human in all but shape.

I felt disturbed, as if something had disfigured the subtle harmony of the ball. My heart beat faster. _Where is Tamruzîr_ , I wondered, furtively looking around. It was approaching midnight and he had not yet appeared.

‘The dance does not seem to excite you much,’ the advisor noted.

I looked up at him and, before I found words for an answer, he continued, ‘Don’t worry. I understand, it must feel strange to find oneself in such proximity with the Enemy.’

‘Indeed,’ I nodded, finally regaining courage; there was something reassuring in small talk. ‘Although he’s in custody, I can sense his presence as if he was right here—’

I bit my tongue, realising my fatal mistake.

The ring served as a key to my realisation. A plain golden ring. Just like Tamruzîr’s, I thought when I noticed it on my partner’s finger, and then I understood everything. I was petrified. All this time the truth loomed over me, appeared before my eyes and crawled in my shadow, and yet I remained oblivious to it—all because it was too dreadful to conceive. I gaped at the counsellor in silent horror and refused to believe my own eyes. Even the names supported my guess. Tamruzîr translated to Aulendil in Quenya; the name he called himself to beguile the Elves of Eregion. To all my questions there was only one answer. The new counsellor, the man who brought me ill news, the man who overtook my father’s position, the man to whom I was promised and who held me in his arms right now was none other than Sauron.

‘Finally you understood,’ he smiled delightedly. ‘Now we can talk barefaced. If you only knew how much I hated to deceive you.’ 

‘It can’t be,’ I whispered.

‘You need more evidence?’ he raised his eyebrows.

I shook my head.

I grew short of breath and my legs were giving way. The music, the lights, the stone vaults of the hall—everything seemed to be collapsing on me. I was desperate to flee but could not move a single muscle beyond what the dance required. The smile remained on my face till the final pas, and even then only the paleness of my face and the coldness of my hands gave away my terror.

We found ourselves on a spacious terrace in the open air. The hall remained behind us on the other side of a glass wall.

I leaned on the dented white stone of the parapet and tried to recover my breath, observing the city lights flickering in the distant cold and listening to the wind howling between the towers.

I was alone face to face with the Enemy.

‘Take my hand,’ he demanded.

Hesitantly, I obeyed. His palm was warm, and its heat spread through my body. The cold no longer bounded my limbs.

‘Don’t be afraid, Telumendis,’ he spoke Adûnaic but used my Quenya name and pronounced it purer than any Númenórean. ‘Only a fool wouldn’t be frightened in such circumstances, but, trust me, your fear is unfounded. I do not wish you ill.’ 

_But you do wish ill upon my family and my people,_ I thought and said aloud, ‘I am not afraid.’

‘Not afraid but so astounded that you cannot believe what you see and hear,’ Sauron nodded. ‘It’s perfectly comprehensible. It must be difficult to believe someone who had deceived you twice before you even met properly. But I was not the only one hiding my true identity.’

‘I had different motives,’ I countered.

The Enemy raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? I found that our motives were rather similar.’

‘You had an advantage.’

‘And I still have it. We were not conceived equal, Minalhil, which is good; otherwise we would have been enemies. You wouldn’t have gazed at me with eyes full of wonder and awe, striving to grasp my next move. Your beauty wouldn’t have moved me,’ the Maia stroked the back of my hand slowly. ‘I would never have asked your hand in marriage.’


	4. Facing the Truth

He deserted the ballroom as soon as we returned there without uttering a single word. For a while I kept looking around in search of him but to my relief, once in his long life he kept his word.

Loud festive music and the airy chatter of other young people felt incongruous with my puzzlement. Everything seemed different.

     Sauron’s proposal—though it was not a _proposal_ at all—echoed in my head like thunder.

     ‘Oh, Minalhil!’ Adûnaphel, a noble girl from the capital called my name. ‘By any chance, do you know where is His Lordship?’

     She had lustrous golden locks—a sign of a Hador’s descendant—clipped with diamonds in an elaborate headwear. Nimloth and a girl I had never met wearing a jade necklace accompanied her.

     ‘He said that he had businesses to attend,’ I answered as impassively as I could.

     Adûnaphel waved her fan of green feathers.

     ‘In the middle of a ball! This is very like him, indeed. Bêlinzîl, Lômiûrê, now how do you like this?’ she addressed my Nimloth and their companion. I could not guess her age or origin from appearance alone—she looked foreign because of her dark slanted eyes, but Númenor had many colonies, and our valiant sailors came into contact with many strange peoples from the most distant corners of the world.

     ‘He has many responsibilities,’ she shrugged.

     ‘What were you talking about on the terrace?’

     Of course, Adûnaphel saw everything.

     ‘He asked my hand in marriage,’ I said.

     Nimloth gasped, and Adûnaphel dropped her fan.

     ‘It can’t be!’ she cried. ‘You must be kidding!’

     ‘Everyone was expecting it,’ said the lady with the jade necklace. ‘She looked me into the eyes and smiled. ‘My name is Lômiûrê. I was introduced to the court only recently. Congratulations and best wishes on your betrothal, Lady Minalhil.’

     ‘Thank you. Nice to meet you, Lômiûrê. Where was home for you—‘

     ‘But how can you be together if you are a Faithful?’ Adûnaphel interrupted.

     While I gaped at her blankly, Nimloth stepped in.

     ‘Why don’t you ask how can they be together if they barely know each other and belong to entirely different races? They also come from the opposite ends of the world. Why does that not concern you?’

     ‘What did you say, Elf-lover?’

     ‘I’m saying that you are greener than your fan.’

     Adûnaphel’s mouth fell open.

     ‘She’s right,’ Lômiûrê smiled, slanting at her. ‘Any girl would be jealous of Zigûr’s chosen one.’

    

‘Here is Minalhil,’ Ar-Pharazôn smiled when I came. Together with Tar-Míriel they were talking to my parents. ‘How are you doing?’

     ‘Very well, Your Majesty,’ I made a curtsey. ‘Thank you.’

     ‘Are you sure that matching two people of completely different origins would be a solid foundation for a family?’ father frowned.

     ‘Zigûr could make Minalhil immortal too.’

     ‘Even if it was possible, I would rather she married a _Dúnadan_.’

     ‘We’ve already discussed this in detail,’ said Tar-Míriel. ‘I thought you’ve made your mind, Lord Aphanuzîr.’

     I held my breath as I listened to this conversation. My parents had married for love. Elendil had married for love. Every close relative I could think of... Father always said that, even though he would readily use his right to renounce the man I chose, he would never have forced me into marriage. Definitely not at the age of twenty-five.

     ‘I have—but my heart aches every time I think of it,’ father replied. ‘Although you value my advice no longer, I am still loyal to you and the kingdom, and so is Minalhil. But I don’t want to sacrifice her happiness for a lost cause.’

     ‘Gods’ sake, I’m not asking you to slaughter her. All the girls in the court lost their minds about Zigûr. They would do anything to be in your daughter’s position.’

     ‘It is true, ‘Tar-Míriel touched my elbow. ‘Besides, Minalhil is remarkably sensible. I warrant you that she will make the right decision herself. And the opinion of the bride is definitely not the last to consider... In practice, marrying for passion leads to disaster much more often than arranged marriages.’

     Mother nodded with a smile. ‘You must know it better than any of us, _Tarinya_.’

     ‘Let Minalhil decide for herself,’ Ar-Pharazôn either ignored or pretended to ignore mother’s spiteful remark.

     Presently he invited me for a dance. I lost the mood for dancing, but refusing was not an option.

     ‘Don’t worry about your father,’ the King said. ‘Under my rule no child shall be held responsible for her parent’s wrongdoings. You will be treated as a hero’s wife, not as a traitor’s daughter.’

     Traitor. Traitor’s daughter. How could he even say such a thing about his most loyal friend, the one he called his brother, after everything he had done for him?

     I wondered as well what feats of mind and courage must a Númenórean woman perform so that people start referring to her by something other than her closest male relation.

     The Lord and Lady of Andúnië had too much responsibilities to be distracted by a little girl’s troubles, so in childhood, whenever I was upset or frightened, I ran to Elendil. He would defend me against anything—from monsters in the cupboard to the boys I played with when they irked or offended me. A single look from my brother, tall and authoritative even as a youth, would be enough to give any unwanted suitor shivers. One soothing word was enough to dissipate the darkest shadow in my heart. If only it could work this way now.

     I remember how, when rumours of Sauron attacking Umbar reached the Isle, Elendil comforted me by saying that the Great Sea protected us and that the Enemy would never ever reach Númenor.

     ‘I held your hand as you were learning to walk, and soon I’ll be holding it while you walk down the aisle. Or, perhaps, I should observe the tradition and let your father do it,’ the King continued. ‘Zimraphel and I have been looking forward to your wedding for years. Could you ever imagine how fortunate will you be?'

     Not in the direst nightmares.

     I smiled, ‘I owe my fortune to you, Your Grace.’

     Ar-Pharazôn laughed, ‘I would do anything for you, darling. You’re like a daughter to me. Do you know that I will pronounce the blessings for Mêrayôn? And imagine how important it is for our kingdom! You will be the first Númenórean mother to bear immortal children.’

     The Faithful never understood the obsession of King’s men with eternal youth. We believed that the opportunity to leave the world when we grew weary of it was a gift. Quendi and even the Ainur were confined to Arda for the rest of eternity; we had indefinite new worlds stretching ahead of us. For us death was a mere transition; for them, the end of Arda could signify complete, though delayed, obliteration.

     ‘Tell me frankly. Do you like Mêrayôn?’

     ‘Most definitely, Your Grace. He is a man of great intelligence and power.’

     ‘But do you actually like him—as a man? Don’t go bashful. You are destined for each other.’

     ‘I admire and respect him deeply, but profound feelings are not a matter of instants.’

     Ar-Pharazôn shook his head. ‘You are mistaken. I met the greatest love of my life while we were ascending the Minul-Tarik on the New Year morning. You know, one of those tedious silent processions that my predecessor tried to revive. Thanks to me, you will never have to experience these again.’ I nodded. ‘It’s been hours before we first talked. I tried to whisper to her but she almost slapped me in the face,’ the King laughed. ‘Ûrîphêl was a devout Faithful … A sincere believer and a wonderful woman. I wish she were here.’

     ‘So does _ammê_.’ Ûrîphêl, or, as we knew her, Ariëndis, was my mother’s long deceased older sister. ‘She still mourns over her.’

     Ar-Pharazôn smirked, ‘Oh yes, Aphanârî visits her grave every year. She hates it when we happen to come there at the same time. But she has no idea what I suffered.’

     Indeed, mother would never understand the man who had forsaken ‘the greatest love of his life’ to court his cousin the princess, who could offer him something poor Ariëndis had never had—the sceptre.

     My aunt had passed away even before Elendil was born, and the rumours on her demise contradicted one another. Some said that she took her life herself, others that it was taken by a lung fever. Mother, whom I trusted most in this matter, said it was neither and both at the same time. Ariëndis did suffer from a disease, but she hardly fought it, as if her heartache drained her strength to resist. Mother preferred to say that she died of grief. There were other versions, of course, some of them preposterous or downright obscene.

     After meeting Sauron I felt like a sailor after a shipwreck with a sole distinction—a drowning sailor could still cry for help. But in my dismay I forgot about the one person that I looked forward to meeting.

     At first I couldn’t believe my eyes when I noticed a familiar figure in the distance. Telcontar, my childhood friend, whom I have not seen for years. I sized him up. Black hair, pale skin, and navy uniform—he would be a model Western Númenórean if he were a foot taller. He was chatting with Telperiën, his cousin and Elendil’s wife, over a glass of wine.

     When our glances met, both of us froze, unable utter a word. A smile lit up Telcontar’s face.

     ‘Telumë?’ he said when I came closer; his deep blue eyes gleamed with joy. ‘Oh Valar, Telumendis! I cannot believe it!’

     ‘Welcome back, captain Razân,’ I said as he kissed my hand. I could not risk pronouncing his name in Quenya. The fact that my father was the leader of the Faithful was a widely known secret, but for others exposure could be fatal.

     ‘Still lieutenant,’ he smiled.

     ‘When did you come? I haven’t seen you earlier.’

     ‘We landed in Rómenna this morning. I rushed to Armenelos as fast as I could,’ he shrugged his shoulders.

     I had spent a lot of time imagining what would I say to Telcontar when we met but now I found myself speechless. We had a lot to tell each other, so we chatted about whatever came to our mind. We recalled how we first met. It was at the wedding of Elendil and Telperiën. I was ten and he, the bride’s cousin, was thirteen. While the newly wed harked to the blessings of their parents, we stood by them on the opposite sides of the aisle. Every time I caught Telcontar’s eye I turned away, clasping my hands and pretending to be following the ceremony.

     ‘It was such a beautiful day. Was it round Midsummer?’

     ‘No, later,’ Telcontar recalled. ‘The sea was too cold to swim.’

     ‘Yes, I remember now. We wanted to swim but could only play on the beach.’

     ‘You even hurt your foot with broken glass.’

     I chuckled, ‘Oh dear, even I don’t remember that.’

     Telcontar asked me for a dance. For the first time in the evening I agreed gladly.

     ‘I am so happy to finally meet one of us,’ Telcontar confessed. He held me close, one hand on my shoulder and the other round on waist, so we could converse. ‘The society here is dreary—especially that they have exiled the remainder of decent people in my absence.’

     ‘Indeed. And it only gets worse … Have you heard about my father?’

     Telcontar lowered his voice, ‘The new counsellor? Yes, the news reached me this morning. I was appalled to find out.’

     The morning after the first day of the wedding nobody was awake before noon except the children. We had nothing to do so we sat on a pier, splashing our legs in the water, and chatted. Telcontar bragged that his great-grandmother was an elf, hence his dazzling handsomeness and innumerable talents. He made it up, of course. Then we mused about our futures. Telcontar knew even then that he would become a Uinendil. He talked about ships and dreamed aloud of remote ports—Ofir, Umbar, Vinyalondë … But his ultimate goal was Mithlond, the Grey Havens. I told him that my father was the only living Númenórean captain who had ever sailed there and that he could take me there once.

Partly, Telcontar’s dream came true. He sailed with Ar-Pharazôn’s Great Armada to Middle-Earth and stayed there three years more after Sauron’s defeat.

In one of his few letters Telcontar wrote about the victory day. He described how the streets of Umbar, usually flooded with music, chatter, and the clamour of merchants, lapsed into silence. How everyone held their breath when a messenger announced that Sauron had capitulated. And then Telcontar saw him in flesh.

     _Taller than most men I have ever seen, fair, dignified,_ the letter went. _Nothing in the way he looked and held himself exposed a tyrant and a murderer._

     ‘Shouldn’t Sauron be here today?’ he asked.

     ‘Don’t use this name—it’s forbidden,’ I said in a constrained voice.

     ‘Please excuse me. When I departed, all the other names were forbidden. Did he also ban the word I dare not pronounce in front of a lady*? It seems that I’ve returned to a different country.’

     I bowed my head. ‘I’m sorry. The country you left is lost.’

     ‘Telumë,’ Telcontar gave me a grave look. ‘Are you all right?’

     I did not answer.

     ‘Did anything else happen? Please, tell me.’

     I felt a pang in my chest. He had known me for so long that he could understand me without words—even if I pretended to be carefree. My heart was heavy but I felt lightheaded. Maybe it was the wine. I did not realise how much I missed Telcontar before this moment.

     ‘They want me to marry the Enemy,' I confessed.

     ‘Marry?’ he exclaimed. ‘Wait—who—’

     ‘Let’s step aside—better not to discuss it here.’

     As we quitted the dance and moved away from the crowd, I told him everything that had happened since our encounter with Sauron by the Great Fountain. It sounded so absurd that I would hardly believe it myself if I heard this from another person. But Telcontar listened. In his eyes I read an expression of compassion and profound shock.

     ‘This is impossible,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You cannot marry the Enemy. This is out of the question.’

     ‘He is no longer the Enemy.’

     ‘An enemy is an enemy, no matter what you call him. He is a murderer, his hands drip with blood—’

     ‘Speak down—people may hear you—‘

     ‘I don’t care,' Telcontar gesticulated as he spoke. ‘He’s striven to obliterate us for centuries! So many people died resisting him, defending our brethren from his atrocities. Our friends, our ancestors—’

     ‘I told you—I’m not the one to decide.’

     Telcontar clenched my hand. His forehead glistened.

     ‘Your parents can defend you. I know they will, they cannot give you to this monster.’

     For a moment I thought: why did we keep describing him this way? After all, everything we knew about him came from rumours and thousand-year-old lays. But he did not leave me a chance for delusion. His only means of accomplishing things was deceit. He made the King call his sworn brother a traitor. He had lied to me twice even before we met. I could not expect him to be anything but a monster.

     ‘I know exactly how difficult my plight is without being reminded of it every minute,' I tried to maintain calm. 'Please—I need your support.’

     ‘Do you want me to laud him like all those madmen?’ Telcontar frowned, nodding at the crowd. ‘Because I'm a true friend of yours, I will never support you in something that could destroy your life. You will not marry Sauron, I will do anything to prevent it from happening—’

     I smiled bitterly.

     ‘I appreciate your concerns, dear friend. Remember how four years ago I tried to dissuade you from joining the campaign against Sauron? I found it heartbreaking that so many young men had to risk their lives at war… You said that it was a duty of every man to protect his homeland even at the cost of his life. But not only men fight battles, Telcontar. Just like you, I will weather any storm if it’s the best I can do for Númenor. And, trust me, tempests rage within these walls as wild as those out at sea.’

     The emerald leaves of the citrus trees quivered in the fresh spring wind. Never before had I had the privilege of being admitted to the Queen’s personal garden. It was an enchanting place, reflecting the sublime taste of the fairest woman of our time.

     The lantern I carried lit a small circle around us, its light glimmered on the silhouettes of the marble statues we passed. Vardarianna trees were in bloom. Open white flowers all around us, petals falling here and there and blown by the wind. Their sweetness, redolent of the fragrant plains of Nisimildar, imbued the air clouded my consciousness together with wine and emotions. It was a warm _Viressë_ night but I shivered.

     At this time I had to acknowledge that everything that happened was true. It was not a scary dream, not an error or a misunderstanding, as I was desperate to believe. Sauron was not an illusion.

     ‘You know why I summoned you here, don’t you?’ the Queen asked.

     ‘Do discuss my betrothal.’

     ‘Yes.’ We came to a rotunda by a fountain—a murmuring spring throbbing above a marble cup of water. Around us was a ring of plane trees. The Queen sat on a marble bench and allowed me to sit in front of her. From here we could observe the night city. ‘You held yourself well tonight.’

     ‘That’s what mother and father taught me.’

     ‘You are an apt pupil. This is good, but I want you to know that, despite everything we had to say, for your parents and me it was just as bitter as for you. We realised that sooner or later after my father’s demise the tides would turn against the Faithful, although we couldn’t tell how and when. This day has come, and our only hope is you—our children.’

     ‘I see why you want me to marry the Maia,’ I was no longer sure what to call him. ‘But why would _he_ need me as his wife? How much more evil can he inflict upon us?’

     ‘Try and answer your question yourself,’ said Tar-Míriel.

     With her head inclined and the look of her bright grey eyes she resembled a portrait of an ancient princess. She could be proud Tar-Ancalimë or sprightly Tar-Vanimeldë if she smiled. Despite that her husband wielded the sceptre, Tar-Míriel remained a genuine queen. I admired the independence of royal women, their inner flame that even the princesses of Andúnië have never possessed.

     ‘I am a member of House Andúnië, the daughter of his archenemy. By marrying me, he may be hoping to gain leverage over our family. Besides, taking a Númenórean as a wife could enhance his prestige in the eyes of the populace. Am I right?’

     ‘Yes, darling. But also, you are an attractive and noble young woman. Don’t underestimate the impact of that. Now tell me why would you, as a Faithful and an Andúnian, want marry him.’

     I hesitated. ‘Perhaps there is a chance that I might influence him?’

     Tar-Míriel nodded, ‘Undoubtedly, you will kindle the hearts of many _elendili_ with this hope. And the King’s men, in turn, will be satisfied for their reasons.’

     ‘And my family will be relatively safe.’

     ‘Exactly. But it doesn’t mean that your choices will not matter—not at all.’ The Queen paused. ‘My grandmother was the niece of Lord Eärendur of Andúnië. Her beauty enthralled Tar-Telemnar when he saw her. He was an obnoxious man. She detested him, yet, like every other Andúnian, apart from a tender heart, she had a powerful sense of duty. So she married him and gave birth to my father. If not her, there would be no Tar-Palantír, no respite for the Faithful. I wouldn’t be here; your mother would never have left Pelargir and met your father. We would lose the remainder of our liberties.’

     I started to understand what Tar-Míriel was alluding to.

     ‘But surely he doesn’t want children ... not an heir, at least. And even if we have children, he will be influencing them from their very birth. Who would they hearken to—a powerful Maia or a mortal woman?’

     ‘Dear Telumё, not even the mightiest immortal can replace a mother. Question your step-brother if in doubt.’

     I did not answer. I hoped the Queen was right but the hope was faint. I gazed at the city. Domes and spires in a spider-web of streets strewn with dewdrops of lights, main avenues radiating from the Palace Square and intersected by enlarging circular roads. The capital glowed like a fiery dome under the dim purple sky.

     The bell tolled on one of the clock towers.

     The tree crowns rustled in a sudden gust of wind. Among the white petals one flying leaf touched my cheek and fell on my shoulder. A fragile emerald leaf with edges and veins touched with silver.

     I picked it up with awe.

     ‘The Tree.’

     ‘More and more leaves are carried away with the wind,’ Tar-Míriel mused, turning her head to the city. Her city. The lights from it reflected on her face. ‘My father used to say that our line will perish when Ninquёlotё ceases to blossom. And indeed, we have never been so close to extinction—’

     The Queen paused, listening to the bell. It silenced after twenty tolls.*

     ‘It is late now. It must have been a long day for you … Come with me, dear, I will give you some sedative. My maid will then lead you to your chamber.’

     ‘Thank you, Tarinya.’ I stood up and followed Tar-Míriel.

     I could spend days and night praising my Queen—her poise, her taste, her patience and strong will. But above all I admired her kind soul, which she retained notwithstanding the years of living in the serpent pit of the Palace.

     ‘The last piece of advice I must give you today,’ Tar-Míriel spoke as we walked. ‘Your mother’s remark was bitter but she was right; passion is a killer for women like you and I. You will destroy yourself by falling in love with a man. Any man, including Sauron—especially Sauron.’ Tar-Míriel sighed. ‘The great Queens of the past would be ashamed of me. Giving away my sceptre, destroying lives—all because of a youthful infatuation. Not only the men of Númenor grew weaker. I do love my husband and cousin but there are plenty of reasons why I shouldn’t have married him… I hope you will never repeat my mistake, Telumë. You have royal blood, too. Moreover, if the law of Tar-Aldarion applied at the time, Silmariën would have inherited the throne and you, her descendants who now bear the title of the Lords of Andúnië, would have ruled instead of us. Maybe it was meant to be this way. For it is strange, but you seem to be the only great family untouched by decay.’ She stopped to examine a blooming vardarianna branch, one flower growing near its end in particular. ‘As if for some reason time had no power over the house of Valandil.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The implied word is the name 'Thu', presumably used as a curse by Númenóreans.  
> * Númenóreans counted hours from dawn. Here I stick to the version that at some stage they chose a fixed point of reference, which they may have moved twice a year to adjust to changes in daylight length.


	5. Maltir

At the time I encountered Maltir, the apprentice of His Majsety’s jeweller, he was considered of age but still too young to marry according to ancient traditions. He did not see the Dark Maia through the mask of a young rake and hence found no justification for his conceit. Maltir was meant to be on a nightshift that night. Before that he intended to visit the city market, eat supper and bathe in the springs warmed by the heat of the Holy Mountain. For him, the lingering visitor was enough of a nuisance even without his pervasive interrogations.

Sauron asked mostly about the work of the Jewellers of the Guild. Maltir noticed that he knew a lot about his craft, but his condescending tone annoyed him. Determined to get rid of the unwanted guest, he started blatantly tidying up his desk and packing his belongings in front of him.

Suddenly Tamruzîr changed. He lowered his voice, ‘That girl, Minalhil. Do you know her?’

‘No,’ Maltir shook his head. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen her.’

Life had taught him to lie, although he had never enjoyed it. He had too much to conceal—his upbringing, his allegiance, his knowledge of Quenya and Sindarin, and most of all his relation to the Lords of Andúnië. Even though he remained unaware of Tamruzîr’s true identity, his instincts compelled him to keep my identity secret.

‘So why did you side with her? Why would you assign more weight to the flings of a peasant girl than to the decisions of a nobleman, a descendant of Indilzar?’

Maltir spoke from his heart, ‘She was a townsgirl, possibly from a well off family; not a peasant. And, at any rate, she was a girl in the first place, that is, a human being; and only then a member of her estate, whatever it was. Clearly,  _ she  _ was the one in need of help.’

Mairon-Tamruzîr pressed his lips together and sized Maltir up with a judgemental look.

‘Fair. You must have sympathy for your own kind. But such morals will not serve you well if you wish to advance. Consider it: what could the poor lass give you in return compared to me?’

‘How can I know,’ Maltir scoffed and then blew the candles out one by one. ‘As a wise man once told me, never judge someone by his appearance, for often people themselves have no idea who they are.’

In Andúnië, where Maltir grew up just as me, the dazzling setting sun made afternoons hot and lethargic, especially in the summer. The town rested during the last hours of light and awoke at dusk. As the sky turned from warm pink to blue, many lanterns were lit, and people rejoiced and celebrated the end of the scorching day and the coming of coolness. However, in Armenelos, the Holy Mountain obscured the West, so darkness fell early and abruptly. While the Heavenly Pillar shimmered in magnificent gold and coral in the morning, the evenings in the capital were dim and dull.

_ A dark city full of dark souls,  _ Maltir thought, wrapping tighter into his cape while he walked into the crowded marketplace. Nothing made him conscious of the advantages of the sunlit eves of Andúnië as much as the figures for his candle expenditures.

As he queued for the candles, he overheard a conversation between a gaudily dressed old valet, seated on a wooden box and eating sunflower seeds, and a fishwife.

‘The new royal advisor’s promising, but the King’s childless still,’ the latter noted.

The servant spat the chaff out.

‘Are you dumb? Why would he need a child if Zigûr could make him immortal?’

‘He better first make him fertile, or we’ll end up governed by Nimruzîr the Elf-Fucker,’ she parried, undistracted from weighing a plump hake.

_ If only, _ Maltir cringed unwittingly as the people around him sniggered.  _ Elendil would make an excellent ruler. I would support his every endeavour. _

__  The fishwife continued, ‘His slut of a mother’s a mainlander,’ she emphasised the last word with derision. ‘She’d slept with elves before the Lord of Andûniê found her. That’s why her son looks like a bloody Elf. You better keep your daughter away from him.’

Maltir inhabited alone a one-piece flat, small but neat thanks to his efforts, and shared a kitchen with a middle-aged couple from Umbar. As he approached it he sneezed several times. His neighbours were cooking supper.  _ How much do they spend on those spices,  _ he wondered.  _ They must be richer than the Dwarf king unless they have some secret connections with their compatriots. _

__  Zingil noticed Maltir entering the kitchen and embraced him immediately, turning away from her stove.

‘Pharazta, darling! Where’ve you been? We started to worry,’ she said in a thick Umbarian accent. Maltir stared blankly, overwhelmed with her hospitality and bodily odour, mixed with the pungent smell of the spices.

‘A long day in the workshop,’ he smiled, liberating himself from her arms. ‘Ran into a nosy and imperious customer.’

‘Here, I left you some.’ She served Maltir a flatbread with spiced lentils and vegetables. He thanked her and sat opposite her husband, Kadarân, who was about to finish his meal.

At first the spices galore the Umbarians used made his eyes water. Once he complained in a joking tone that he could not taste the food behind them, to which the Umbarians responded with all their seriousness that Númenórean food tasted like chalk. They were a peculiar folk and foreign in many ways, but Maltir had grown fond of them. Listening to their stories about life beyond the Great Ocean, he understood why uncle Elentir had warned him against regarding the Isle as the centre of the world.

‘How’s little Izrêi?’ Maltir questioned. She was the granddaughter of Kadarân and Zingil.

Kadarân shook his head.

‘She’s an Islander. Speaks, dances, eats like the High People—‘ The Umbarian sighed, pushing his near-empty plate away. ‘My dear Izreî… Her teachers and peers made her humbled. Since she went to that school a strange sadness’s appeared in her once playful eyes. A sadness that breaks my heart into pieces.’

‘What angers me is that, whatever she undertakes to fit in, they still tease her an Easterling,’ Zingil added, joining the men at the table.

Maltir lowered his gaze. He knew first-hand what an arrogant and unforgiving nation he was part of.

‘Better tell me your plans for the Queen’s Jubilee party, son,’ Kadarân changed the topic to a more cheerful one and winked. ‘Did you find a date?’

Maltir shook his head, chewing another piece of flatbread.

Kadarân laughed, ‘No surprise. Your women are as bland as your cuisine, too bland for a lad like you.’ He leant back in his chair idly. ‘No matter what they say, you won’t find anywhere in the world girls as great as in Umbar. Am I right, the light of my soul?’

He embraced Zingil with one hand and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Take the daughter of our viceroy,’ he continued. ‘I swear by all of the sands of Arda that under the sun there is no woman as enchanting as Lady Bawûmanêth. She’s a treasure, I tell you.’

‘As if you’ve ever seen her,’ said Zingil.

‘Mother of dunes, of course I have! Who in Umbar hasn’t? Unlike the listless islander damsels, she’s not ashamed of celebrating with her people, and neither’s anyone in her family. She has three younger sisters, and they’re charming too, but no one in Arda can compare with her. If you haven’t seen her dancing, Pharazta, then you haven’t lived.’

Maltir listened carefully.

‘I understand that one’s origin matters less in the colonies.’

‘Oh no, it means everything for the Islanders,’ said Kadarân. ‘Other people ain’t people for them at all. And even Eastrlings rival with each other all the time—it’s a mess. Viceroy Abrazimir does a miracle by keeping Umbar peaceful.’

‘But how much do they care if one’s of a noble origin?’ Maltir insisted.

‘Oh, that… not as much as here.’

‘And how do they regard the Faithful there?’

Kadarân cringed, ‘The Faithful? You mean the Elf-Screwers? Camel patties, they’re worse than fags. Of course they hate them.’

 

‘Hey, Pharazta, whose sketch’s better—mine or Narîk’s?’

Two boys waited by Maltir’s desk. He examined their works.

‘Both are too sophisticated. They’d make  _ me  _ sweat. Will you permit me? —‘

The boys nodded. He took one of the sketches and refined it. The apprentices froze, trying to trace the deft movements of his hand. Maltir was born left-handed but learnt to handle his right hand too, and then he used it to make it easier for the boys to observe and mimic him in their heads.

The children did not cause him much trouble that night. Many senior apprentices hated nightshifts because the untamed youngsters would never give them a moment of peace, but Maltir managed to find a special place in their hearts. Often he preferred them to his peers. Unlike the latter, the former did not envy his victories and celebrate his failures, and they did not share the memories of his disastrous first days in the workshop. It was the shadow of that grim time that compelled Maltir to ensure that no newcomer repeated his experience. Some criticized him for having too much tolerance for weakness, yet he knew no other ways.

That shift Maltir had to comfort Zabathan, an eight-year-old, one of the youngest in the workshop. The hapless boy missed his family and home village. In spite of his despair, he dared to confess his trouble in the dead of night only because of his young age.

‘I left my hometown at seventeen,’ the Maltir mused after having comforted the boy to the point where he wiped his tears. ‘Even though I was older than you’re now, however you think you aren’t fit for this, I was worse, trust me.’

‘But how? You’re so important.’

‘It doesn’t mean that it was easy for me in the beginning.’

The afternoon after arrival was not bad—Maltir was too overwhelmed with impressions and experiences to feel homesick. But the morning after, he woke up and discovered himself stranded alone in an unfamiliar city, in a shabby room with a dozen of other boys, most of them far below the level of culture someone brought up by the Lords of Andúnië would have felt comfortable with. The painful realisation struck him. Maltir sat up in bed and hit the top bunk with his forehead. Still half-asleep, he placed his palm against his sternum. There was no blood, but he felt as if someone had shot a poisoned arrow through the middle of his chest. Unable to remove it, he kept walking with it. The wound clotted and bled again, festered and itched, but gradually the pain faded. Maltir became content with his new life and found joy in his craft, but, just as old fractures of some people on rainy days, the wounds of his soul ached when something reminded him of his past.

In some places the air itself was thick with memories that choked Maltir. Such were the vicinities of the Royal Palace. Although he had never set foot there, even the light of its windows and the sight of people emerging from there, even servants, were redolent of a different life. A life he had had before his conscience and status compelled him to leave home.

‘I became the laughing stock of this workshop after I screamed at the sight of a dozen of cockroaches scurrying from under my pillow.’

Zabathan chuckled. ‘Are there no cockroaches in Andûniê?’

‘They don’t do well in the cold,’ Maltir half-lied.

‘So why did you come here?’

‘Because I loved the art of jewellery, and there was no better place to learn for an aspiring jeweller than Arminaleth. I knew what I was opting for, and, although I’ve gone through some challenges, I’ve never regretted my decision. Creation is the ultimate joy, and I wouldn’t have traded it even for a title of a Crown Prince. Sometimes I feel grateful for not being born a nobleman. Otherwise I would’ve been confined to one position for life, and the world I discovered as an artisan would’ve stayed out of my reach, unless I was meant to become the next Fëanor.’

‘Or Zigûr,’ Zabathan smiled.

Maltir remembered the words that uncle Elentir, Lord Amandil’s brother, used to console him with. He visited him in Armenelos despite being one of the most unwelcome people in the capital.

Late at night they sat alone in a tavern with a pint of ale each. Maltir was in his early twenties then.

‘It’s not about the luxuries or the comfort, though they matter a lot too—‘ he spoke quietly. ‘Life seemed so secure and certain, and now—‘

‘Certainty is an illusion. Mortality is the only certainty—and most of our brethren doubt even that.’

Elentir was the closest he had ever had to a father. Possibly, their mutual understanding arose from their somewhat similar fates. If Maltir was dragged from rags to riches and then returned to his ‘natural’ social stratum, Elentir began with spectacular prospects and lost everything overnight. It took one word—one ‘yes’ uttered by a woman at the wrong time to the wrong man—to upturn his life. The woman was Princess Míriel, and the man was Pharazôn, her cousin. Elentir could have become the Prince Consort. He would never have usurped his wife’s sceptre but would have supported her as a wise and farsighted advisor, helping her continue her father’s deeds. Instead, he became an outcast and watched his dishonest rival bask in the adoration of his populace and beloved. However, ostracised from the court, Elentir found himself with plenty of time to spend in libraries and overseas. Coupled with his naturally inquisitive and keen mind, this forged him into a man of great wisdom and wide knowledge.

‘You’re a man of great knowledge. You’ve read scores of books and seen many lands and peoples,’ Maltir continued. ‘Tell me, what renders your blood so special? It’s not just Elven lineage— _ ammê _ has none and yet is considered superior to any commoner. What’s in her blood that is absent from mine?’

Maltir drank from the mug. Elentir’s lips curved in a broken smile. Despite all his struggles he still looked young; it was him, not Elendil, who truly deserved to be teased a half-Noldo.

He leant in and whispered, ‘Nothing. No one would manage to tell apart the blood of the King and his lowliest drudge had it spilt.’

‘Then why do people value their heritage so much?’

‘An ancient tradition. It may have made sense sometime, but it must change if our society wants to survive. You see how rotten our nobility is already. Its days are counted.’

 

‘Are you a Faithful?’ asked Zabathan, yawning. ‘I think the Faithful aren’t as evil as we believe. My grandma was a Faithful and she was the gentlest person in the world.’

For a moment Maltir turned cold.

          ‘Was?’ he asked with genuine compassion and also to divert the boy’s attention. He doubted that the boy was conditioned to trick him, but he could not risk divulging an eight-year-old such an important secret.

          ‘You know what happens to all of them in the end. But do they really deserve it?’

          Maltir patted the apprentice’s shoulder.

          ‘You’re a brave and compassionate boy, Zabathan, and these are commendable qualities, but very dangerous in this particular situation. I won’t tell anyone, but you must hold your tongue, too. By speaking such opinions out you can not only get yourself into trouble but also jeopardise other people’s safety—not reporting is already a breach of law. But anyway… I’m sorry. I’m sure your grandmother was a lovely person. Was she exiled to Rómenna?’

          ‘I don’t know. One day I just woke up and she wasn’t there.  _ Attô  _ said that the Golden Capes had taken her.’

        Ar-Pharazôn’s guard.

Maltir immersed in thought. Maybe a similar fate befell his parents. He longed to believe that it was true, or that at least there was some mortal danger that they were trying to deliver him from. Otherwise, why would they abandon him? Lady Almarian told Maltir that her maid had found him in a basket by the side of a road on her way back from town. It happened on a cold, snowy night, so he could not have stayed there untended for long. The footprints of whoever left him might have still been fresh.

   That winter was so deadly that some of the Faithful proclaimed it the retribution of the Valar. Not long before mother found Maltir, it had bereaved her of her older sister, Ariëndis. A naturally resolute woman, softened by sorrow, she pitied the child.

   ‘I will not let another innocent creature perish this winter,’ she said, ‘and to make up for my sister’s loss, I’ll raise this boy to be as kind-hearted as her, and give him the knowledge and resources to become one of the little flames that make the Shadow overlooming our land retreat; thus I shall bring up my own child when he arrives.’

At that time mother had already been carrying Elendil for five months. She kept her promise and treated the two boys like twins, yet remained aware of their innate differences and ready to recognise them when the time came.

It was mother’s strange affection for Maltir that filled me with disbelief for the rumours that he was my father’s illegitimate scion. A cheated woman would never have treated her stepchild with such affection, no matter how desperately she sought consolation after her sister’s demise. Besides, father loved mother dearly and Maltir bore no visual resemblance to him whatsoever. I would rather believe that he was mother’s natural child were it physically possible.

Also, they say that children born outside of marriage are damned and wicked. However unfortunate his fate, Maltir was anything but that. Devoid of noble blood, he possessed something more precious—a noble heart.

Númenóreans frequently put  _ gold  _ into names, but usually by that they meant ‘golden light’ or ‘radiance’; using  _ solid gold _ , as in Maltir’s case, was rare. Whether my mother’s choice was prophetic or its influence so powerful, it suited my stepbrother well. A masterful jeweller as he was, he resembled the metal in his name both in purity and softness.

  
  



	6. The Upheaval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to those who celebrate!

A day after the ball I saw a recurring dream so vivid that every time it took me minutes to fully untangle myself from its sticky web when I awoke. In its insidiousness it made me think I got up as usual to share breakfast with the foreign-looking girl from the ball, Lômiûrê. She laid the table like a maid and sat opposite me on a balcony. Seagulls soared above, crying and carefully watching our food.  

I tried to strike up a conversation with Lômiûrê and failing because she kept her answers monosyllabic. It frustrated me.  

The birds flew lower and cried louder. Trees in the garden further ahead wavered and rustled like a sea of foliage.  

‘West wind,’ Lômiûrê concluded and shook her head. ‘Ill news.’ 

I tried to explain to her, with the foolhardy candour I would never have mustered in reality, that Sauron’s lies had led her astray. That Númenor had not always been at odds with Aman. That in the better days the west wind had born the warmth and fragrance of the Undying Lands and had bulged the sails of Elven ships. 

I said ‘Sauron’s lies’ because I figured that she was not from the colonies; not from our colonies, at least. Lomiûrê was not a half-blood daughter of a governor of some remote coast, as I presumed at first, but a child of an entirely different civilisation: the unreachable Rhûn. The other half of the mortal world. Ruled by Sauron, that realm had remained isolated from the West for centuries, and we knew agonisingly little about it.  

Lômiûrê’s projection’s lips barely twitched in a smirk. 

Then the world began to tremble. I stumbled into the room, collapsed on the floor and covered my head. The balcony crumbled as soon as I left it.  

Earthquakes befell Númenor occasionally. Even I had experienced a weak one when I was eleven. My parents taught me how to act should another one strike, lamenting that centuries earlier it had been unnecessary. I thought I had mostly forgotten what it felt like. But the dream unearthed every sensation from the deepest corners of my memories and applied them, astonishingly intact, to the new surroundings. I had not known I remembered my childhood experience in so much detail before it surfaced in my sleep. 

When the tremor ceased, I ran out of the building and felt into the next trap: the panicking mob.  

Before people used to believe that earthquakes were echoes of Morgoth’s distortion of the earth; or, even more disturbingly, the impact of arcane powers beyond his control—akin to those that had begotten Ungoliant. In my days, most natural disasters were attributed to the wrath of the Valar. 

 But, whatever their origin, earthquakes had never failed to terrify people to the bones. 

The world whirled in fear as the wrath of the earth and the sky blended with human shrieks and the ring of shattering glass. I pushed through, seeking safety and trying to spot a familiar face in the chaos. Danger threatened from above, below and every single side.

 I noticed a clearing and managed to slip out to it. However, once I stopped to catch my breath, an aftershock struck, and the pavement beneath my feet gave way. 

I opened my eyes but did not awaken. It was hard to get up; my body resisted movement as if wounded. I realised that I fell into a catacomb. How long ago, I could not tell, for I may have had passed out. Light and rainwater flowed down from the gap in the vault; a gap unreachably high for me. 

‘ _Yôzahê abâr nê-nada! Natho nin! Natho!_ ’ I yelled. But no one even slowed down.

Stones on the ground started to quiver again. The grumble amplified, and pebbles fell from the fringes of the hole. Someone else fell right next to me, and I got up and stumbled under the vault. It was about to collapse. Having no other option, I rushed into the dark. I ran and ran until I fell again. 

This time I found myself surrounded by pitch darkness and deafening silence. My attempts to stand up failed. I thought that my ankle got dislocated.

Pain gripped my leg. I felt it despite that I was asleep. The echo of my futile cries for help faded in the rumble rising from the very roots of Arda—the workings of the abominable creatures gnawing its core. Stones tumbled down from the cave vaults. Death was imminent. Every time I prayed for it to be quick—for being knocked out of consciousness by a falling boulder rather than getting trapped to go mad and starve—and realised that, even when the worst was over, no one would find my corpse in that godforsaken dungeon. Not before it decayed beyond recognition. 

_I must crawl,_ I told myself. _The chances of finding a passage to the surface are slim, but if I give in, I’ll perish all the same. I’m choosing between an inevitable and a nearly inevitable end. So why not try? Why not die struggling, with at least a faint ray of hope and the confidence that I’ve done everything I could? If a struggle is doomed, it doesn’t mean it’s vain._

And always, as I crawled in the dark, banishing thoughts of the surface that I would never see again and thanking my parents for instilling me the Faithful attitude to the Gift, someone’s arms lifted me.  

He never said a word, but my heart knew precisely who he was. 

I hated being helpless as a blind kitten and loathed the fact that the only way I could survive was clasping to the Enemy. But I also felt grateful—and ashamed of it. 

After waking up from this nightmare for the first time, I found relief quickly. I discerned the contours of my room and reasoned that no earthquakes had occurred recently, that I’ve last seen the Enemy at the palace and that my ankle was intact. But the following night it repeated itself. 

My uncle Elentir was good at interpreting dreams. He said that a lot of them stem not from higher powers but our own hidden fears, memories and wisdom. _What is this one trying to tell me?_ I dwelled on it and reached some conclusions. Yet it occurred again. _What else_ , I wondered and finally wrote my considerations down.  

The nightmare never bothered me again. However, no exercises of thought could dissipate reality.  

 

 

Sauron’s rise to power had proven that nothing was immutable. If mountains could crumble and seas could change contours, what was there to expect from humankind? Yet the friendship between my father and Ar-Pharazôn did not dwindle overnight. Thanks to the strength of their bond and the efforts of Tar-Míriel, it kept smouldering like embers in the fireplace after a hearty dinner. 

A week after the ball we were invited for luncheon to the palace. 

It was a warm day, so we ate outdoors next to one of the smaller gardens. I got seated opposite my potential fiancé. Even though I was facing the building, I could still hear the murmur of the fountains and see the reflections of the vegetation in the window glass. 

Mairon poured me water and wine and acted courteously in every way. He looked different from any human I had seen before, which made me question if he was real. If I did not know who he was, I would consider him handsome. Our conversation flowed seamlessly, which was both relieving and disturbing: I shivered internally every time I recalled who he was and what did he want. 

_He’s just an adroit conversationalist_ , I comforted myself.  _It has nothing to do with me._

I felt so unsettled that I could not push a single piece of food down my throat. 

‘You don’t need to eat for sustenance, do you?’ I asked. 

Mairon shook his head. 

Much later I figured it was not wholly true; eventually he became tied to his physical body so firmly that he did require some nourishment to maintain it. Still, he survived on incomparably less than humans or even Quëndi. 

‘I recognise that for the Children food is not a mere means of survival. Advanced societies tend to treat masterful cooks and bakers like artisans. Have you heard about nations that ban certain products or methods of treating them?’ 

‘Vaguely.’

‘My point is, food and everything that surrounds it are essential components of culture. Hence I eat for the company when I need to; like now. In fact, it’s you who hasn’t had a single bite today,’ he smirked. 

_I guess that’s my droplet of the Maiar blood speaking_ , I thought but did not dare to voice it even as a joke.

Questions cropped up in my mind. Had he ever consumed a human? An Elf? I could not ask and, frankly, I preferred to guard my blissful ignorance. Legends mentioned the gruesome cuisines of the dark strongholds, and they may well have had substance to them. To Sauron, Eruhini were a distinct, inferior species. I could not help thinking that, had circumstances changed, he would have eaten us all without hesitation.  

These macabre speculations killed the scant remainders of my appetite. The cakes looked mouth-watering, but emotions clenched my throat. I struggled even to breathe. 

I ordered my favourite ice cream in the hope that it would help. 

Mairon seized everyone’s attention by revealing what he had learned about humans over thousands of years that he had spent with them and describing life in the far East of Middle-Earth. I wished there was a way to learn from him without becoming his slave. Why did the heart of such a talented and versatile being have to be so cruel, I wondered, nibbling at a spoonful of ice-cream. Why did genial spirits pay no attention to mortals? No wonder Sauron noticed this gap and took advantage of it. No wonder he had succeeded. 

Later we walked in the garden. The lanes were wide enough for five, but we aligned in pairs according to some unspoken order. My parents and the royals let Mairon and me forward to give us more privacy. 

‘Is Lômiûrê your subject?’ I wondered. 

‘What do you mean?’ 

Silly question, of course. Practically we were all his subjects. 

‘Is she from your Eastern dominion?’ I specified. ‘The Land under the Eternal Sun—did I get it correctly?’  

‘Aanuku-lata,’ Mairon nodded, smiling. ‘ _Aanuku_ means _Eternal Sun_. I didn’t expect you to know.’ 

‘I read about it. Besides, my ancestor, the Lord Lindamo an-Andúnië, and his crew were the only Númenóreans to come into direct contact with your people and survive. But you can’t blame our ignorance on us. We tried our best to study the East, but its natives…’ I bit my tongue to prevent myself from sounding even more insolent, ‘defended their borders formidably.’  

Mairon laughed and replied evasively: 

‘For reasons not even I comprehend fully, they carry a superstitious mistrust of the ocean in the marrow of their bones. The sea holds them in awe. They don’t build homes next to it and refuse to eat what it gives. The marine Maiar after whom you name islands and streets are demons in their legends. And of course, rumours about what you had done to those you had conquered reached them… As a word of comfort, however poorly Westerners understand the People of the Sun—the  _Aanshrai—_ they know even less about you.’ 

‘We are a nation of explorers, whereas they seem to be protectors and builders.’

‘You’re right about the latter and half-wrong about the former. The spirit of exploration is inherent to all mortals. Yet for Aanshrai it manifested as the desire to study their own nature. They argue that it takes more strength to subdue one’s proper soul than to conquer a city.’  

During that walk Mairon also taught me the correct name of the Dark Tower. He confirmed that it was but a Western outpost on the fringe of a vast empire inhabited by peoples numerous and diverse, known collectively as the Aanshrai—the People of the Sun. The cement that held them together had three components: the Emperor, the Three Immortals* and the Dark Speech. 

As for Lômiûrê, I forgot to ask about her real name. _Night sun._ If it was a direct translation from her native language, I could work it out. 

_I don’t even know his actual name,_ I realised. _I learnt it was Mairon, but this had to be a Quenya translation._

Those conversations soothed me. I fulfilled my curiosity, and the excitement that came with it masked my anxiety.  

After the walk was over I felt relieved and hoped that I could return home with a relatively light heart, but Tar-Míriel requested me to stay. She desired to have a word with me in private. 

Ar-Pharazôn, father and Zigûr retreated to discuss some matters of their own too. 

The Queen brought me to a cosy tearoom in her quarters, where only those close to her were admitted. Contrary to my expectations, she did not bring up any pressing issues. She ordered her maid to bring more refreshments and sweets, hoping that I would finally be able to eat, and brewed an infusion of mountain herbs from the Forrostar. She loved tea and preferred to handle it herself.  

‘The leaves demand precise conditions—timing, temperature, water volume—to unfurl their best taste,’ she explained, ‘and they differ from type to type and from infusion to infusion. That’s why you can’t drink the same tea twice… Doesn’t it fascinate you?’  

 There were few windows in this room, and I felt sheltered from the outside world. I watched Tar-Míriel pour the water into the teapot. 

‘Flip the hourglass for me—quick!—and observe how the dry leaves unfold. You are now a fully-fledged Andúnian, aren’t you?’ she looked at a small silver brooch shaped like a five-pointed star—a traditional coming-of-age gift in the family of the Lords of Andúnië.  

I turned twenty-five two days earlier. So far, only family members and close friends have congratulated me; the grand celebration was yet to come. 

‘I am honoured to wear it, _Tarinya_. It confers me strength.’  

Tar-Míriel smiled warmly. 

‘You’re not the first one to say this, and I hope not the last.’ Then firmly, ‘If it’s so, wear it, for soon you’ll need your spirit to be as firm as never before.’ The last grain of sand fell, and the Queen poured the tea into a glass decanter. She held it against the ray of sun seeping in through the curtain and then handed to me so that I could examine the scent and the colour. ‘And your ring, is it your weapon or armour? I think I know who’s present it is,’ her eyes shone. ‘How is your step-brother?’ 

Finally, Tar-Míriel filled my cup. Behind her back people joked that she thought a cup of tea could solve every problem. _A vicious and cunning dark Maia taking over your kingdom? Drink a cup of_ Blessed Mountain _. You’re getting married to that Maia? Oh well, this is a teapot-scale issue._

I would not be surprised that deep in her cellar Tar-Míriel hid a batch of undying leaves brought by Elves from Aman in the days of her great-great-great-great-grandfather. 

‘He is well, Your Majesty. As far as I know, Maltir is well recognised in the Guild. He is very talented.’  

‘He is, isn’t he? Yet his lot is a difficult one. You must protect and support each other; you, Maltir, and Elendil. Each in your own way. Your generation is our hope.’  

My blood brother’s destiny was leading the Elendili after our father, as his very name suggested. Maltir, while his disguise held, could be our connection to secretly Faithful commoners in Armenelos. Therefore my part had to be remaining in the palace and exploiting whatever leverage I could gain—if only I could! A mission subtle and no less perilous than swaying a sword in the open. Would it even be possible to fulfil it without betraying my values and principles? Tar-Míriel’s and father’s examples proved that it would. But, however heartbreaking it was to acknowledge, father lost his position, and Tar-Míriel’s hands were tied. And yet every one of her actions mattered; even the smallest. This gave me comfort. 

‘We will have all the time to ponder on the grim events we witness. Let’s enjoy the moment while we can.’ The Queen raised a cup of tea and sipped from it. ‘How did you like my present?—’ 

We conversed in the warm twilight of the guest room, just the two of us. Tar-Míriel complained a bit about her ladies-in-waiting; how obnoxious were those from the King’s people, and how difficult it was for the secretly Faithful. She wanted to shelter everyone but could not do it. That was why she needed me by her side, I realised. I genuinely loved Tar-Míriel. Even though I found some of her traits annoying, it took a lot to maintain virtue and integrity in the serpent pit of the palace. Having no children of her own, she was a motherly figure for all of her protégés, including me, Elendil and Maltir. Besides, I admired her beauty and taste.

Once again I thought how privileged I was to know the true Heiress of Elros so intimately. Even if I ended up Sauron’s wife, her presence would make my life less miserable. 

The Queen put her unfinished cake on the table and looked around impatiently. 

‘It looks like we have to go. The men must have finished discussing their affairs by now.’  

With a sigh I refilled my cup, hastily finished the lukewarm tea and stood up. I looked forward to coming home, and yet a disquiet inexplicable curled up at the bottom of my heart like a serpent. 

Tar-Míriel proceeded slowly to the door and opened it herself. As she led me through the ancient corridors of white marble, the clatter of her heels seemed to echo more sonorously than usual. Soon I realised why. Usually the Home of the Kings teemed with life: courtiers, maids and valets scurried here to and fro, and now it appeared half-empty. We only crossed paths with two or three people. Everything was eerily silent. 

‘It’s not as busy as always,’ I noticed. 

‘Here we like to nap after lunch too,’ Tar-Míriel joked. ‘With a sole and recent exception, the Palace is inhabited by humans, after all.’  

Lately I had become excessively suspicious. Lunches were usually late here indeed; however, it was too still even for the afternoon; it could not be that every last person was sleeping or working at their desk. The pensiveness with which the Queen looked straight ahead of herself bode no well either. I thought I discerned a distant voice speaking amidst of this quiet. I could not understand where it came from and to whom it belonged, but I heard it more and more distinctly. 

I was about to question the Queen again when she slowed down herself. Just before another turn she pulled me to one of the niches between the pilasters in the wall. 

‘ _Tarinya_ , is everything alright?’ I wondered as lightheartedly as I could. 

In response Tar-Míriel took my hand.  

‘Listen, Minalhil,’ she switched to Adúnaic; her voice was soft yet troubled. ‘We shall part soon, but I would like to leave you with a few more words of advice. You’ve been through a lot without having expected it the last weeks; I see it—just as I see that most of your concerns you prudently hide. However, you must face the truth. Your life has just begun, and don’t expect it to be lenient or forgiving.’ I gulped nervously. ‘You will not be able to apprehend some of the worst trials you’ll face. Be prepared and remember: it is only the beginning.’  

The Queen looked around once more and continued: ‘When dark days come, remember what are you enduring it for.’ She looked at the star-shaped brooch on my chest. ‘ _Ki-yadahê ni-nad._ ’   

If before I had been only somewhat anxious, now I had to suppress welling panic. The abrupt change in Ar-Zimraphêl from cordiality to regal composure, the threatening silence and emptiness around—all of it disconcerted me. I was scared.

We faced a long corridor ending with three tall doors, the central door being the biggest. All of them were shut save the right one; it had a slit in it. The proud voice could not be misidentified; it belonged to Ar-Pharazôn. The shreds of his words solemnly resonated in the silence. 

‘—new times, in which we as a race must renounce—’ 

‘ _Tarinya_?’ I looked inquisitively at Tar-Míriel in a constrained tone when we were almost at the door. 

‘—in the name a brighter future for humanity.’  

‘Last word: whatever happens, even if the entire Creation collapses onto your head, never shall you reveal it to others,’ the Queen spoke quietly but harshly, without turning around, standing right by the exit. ‘And now, smile, my child—and keep smiling all the time, whatever it costs you. Don’t you dare let me down.’  

I only had time to gulp air as the door opened. When I saw what was happening, my heart froze. 

We emerged to a terrace—the one facing the Palace square, whence every important announcement in the history of the Isle was delivered. The birth and death of every ruler and the beginning of every war. The outlawing of the Faithful. The ban on Elven languages. The drawing of the Romenna Line.  

Beyond the palace square the perfectly straight and wide Rómenna Road stretched into the horizon. 

Ar-Pharazôn's blue cape and messy golden hair wavered in the wind. Zigûr was to his right and slightly behind, my father—to his left and another step back. Golden Capes armed with bows flanked the terrace by both sides. But what frightened me most was the square in front of us, flooded with a silent mob of people. Remembering Tar-Míriel’s precept and still held by her by the elbow, I smiled but kept slanting around, trying to understand what was happening and why was I there. 

The King paused. It seemed that a massive glass dome of stillness weighed down of the city; only the Great Fountain hissed below, and the wind whispered over the land. The crowd occupied the same place as in my earthquake nightmares. It was frozen rather than scattering in panic, but its silence rang louder than any cries of terror.  

Tar-Míriel lead me forth. Our steps resounded way too loudly. I had recalled her command to smile for the second time a moment before she left me next to Zigûr and retreated to my father’s side. By that time realisation had already started to dawn on me.

I slanted at Sauron when somebody snatched my hand again; now the right one. Ar-Pharazôn pulled him and me forward, connecting our hands. 

‘I hereby announce my intention to unite the hearts and fates of Merayôn of the Immortals and the daughter of Lord Aphanuzîr an-Andûniê, Minalhil, with the sacred bonds of marriage.’ 

The crowd erupted with applause and cheers. 

_...And the ground beneath my feet gave way._

The foundations of my existence shuddered.  _What’s happening? Why didn’t I know?_

I sensed the heat of Sauron’s palm and heard my frantic heartbeat. I smiled, watching my life fall apart in front thousands of eyes, in the gentle colours of the sunless evening sky. 

How fair was Armenelos viewed from this terrace! I had never been there before, and never had I seen the capital in such splendour. Suddenly I saw every street and alley align in perfect symmetry; every position that used to seem chaotic or random now made sense. Every turn, every lane, every fountain and clock tower. White roofs, viaducts and turrets in the fading light as far as the eye could see, banners, spires, parks, bridges—the pinnacle of our civilisation. The most magnificent city ever constructed by Men. 

I observed Armenelos with pride and ineffable sorrow. The triumph of our culture, the three-thousand-year-old, ever-beating heart of the Western human civilisation. How gladly, how easily we gave it away! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * 'Help me! Help!' in Adûnaic, then in Sindarin.
> 
> * Yes, I do mean the Nazgûl. Three, not nine, because of my headcanon/presumption that Sauron did not give away all the rings at once. In the end of the day, he wasn’t that likely to find nine extraordinary humans at the same time. But we’ll come back to this later :) 
> 
> * (Ad.) 'Follow me.'
> 
> The information about the East consists mostly of head-canons of my imagining. Translations of non-canonical proper names into Dark Speech are based on fan extensions of the language since the original vocabulary is quite scarce.


End file.
